Fall
by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but it was theirs…Seiner drabble.


_**Fall**_

_A One-Shot by Ellipsis the Great_

_**Summary: **__Maybe it wasn't healthy, but it was theirs…Seiner drabble._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ Kingdom Hearts and everything affiliated with it belongs to SquareEnix and Disney. All I own is the plot…_

_**Rated:**__ T just in case._

_**Theme:**__ 50. Unseen_

_"When she's laying on my shoulder, in the sofa in the dark, and about the time she falls asleep—so does my right arm. And I want so bad to move it, 'cause it's tingling and it's numb, but she looks so much like an angel, that I don't wanna wake her up. Yeah, I live for little moments—when she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it—yeah, I live for little moments like that." –Brad Paisley, 'Little Moments'_

Theirs wasn't exactly what you would call a healthy relationship.

It couldn't really be healthy, could it? After so many years of fighting, that sort of thing was impossible. And the fighting had never stopped, really. They still beat the shit out of each other sometimes, when they got pissed off about something. But now the fighting was cathartic, and it was so nice to have a warm body to snuggle up to afterward (although both would kick the ass of anyone who made the mistake of saying that they were snuggling).

Plus, some part of them—several parts, in fact—still denied the fact that they both batted for the wrong team. For example, neither of them believed in tight pants, because that just didn't fit their junk right. And when you're a healthy teenage boy with a shit load of hormones and a hot, equally horny boyfriend, loose pants are your best goddamn friend. Especially when you're still in high school, and your aforementioned boyfriend sits behind you in the most god-awful boring English class in the history of English classes, and has moved from flicking paper footballs at your head to tracing his name on the all-too-sensitive nape of your neck in order to fend off the boredom. Goddamn bastard.

They didn't have the so-called 'gay lisp,' either. The closest either got was when one or the other became a little too over-enthusiastic (or just plain violent) during a make-out session and busted the other's lip. Or when they lost their infamously short tempers and decided to settle the matter with their fists.

There was also the fact that their friends _still_ didn't get along, and hadn't quite accepted their relationship. And it wasn't some sort of petty 'God, he's just such a dick…but you like him, so whatever,' dislike, either. This was: 'I know I'm a pacifist, but if your jerk of a boyfriend's lackey doesn't stop looking at me like that he's gonna mysteriously grow a spork from the bloody socket where his eye used to be.' And on a _bad_ day, it was: 'Imminent. Death.'

Luckily, they only slightly cared what their friends thought. And Seifer wore a hat all the time, anyhow, so he only bitched at Hayner for a few hours instead of until the pink hair dye completely washed out.

But in the end it was all worth it, really. Because when the fighting stopped and they'd snogged themselves into a hazy stupor, they could curl up together and just lie quietly, so comfortable that even the tingling in Seifer's arm couldn't force them to move. And when Hayner had been silly enough to trust Seifer alone in the kitchen, he got to see an embarrassed blush stain the other's cheeks for the first time in the many years that they had known each other. Just like when Seifer let Hayner read the map, and they had ended up holding hands and watching the sunset a few hours away from civilization and their actual destination.

Not that anyone would ever find out about any of those moments. Hayner and Seifer were badass manly men, gay or not, and they didn't talk about squicky things like emotions. Especially not with other people. It was nobody's fucking business anyhow if they only ever said those three words out loud when they were alone (usually when they were sated and drifting off after sex), and that they knew each other well enough now to never _need_ to say it any other time. Because patching each other up after yet another sparring match and kissing away the (verbal _or_ physical) hurts was just as good as saying 'I love you.' So was knowing that Hayner had never fallen asleep in front of anyone else before (he talked in his sleep), but trusted him enough to do it all the time. And seeing Seifer—strong, arrogant, dominating Seifer—let go and allow him to top nearly every time, or shyly take his hand in public because he wasn't used to any physical contact besides fighting, told Hayner everything he needed to know.

Besides, Seifer reasoned: he could fight just fine with one arm, and Hayner looked like some sort of angel—a mumbling, sweaty, rough-and-tumble angel, but an angel nonetheless—when he fell asleep. So let his other arm (the one pillowing Hayner's head) go numb and fall the fuck off for all he cared—he wasn't moving for any-goddamn-thing.

The End


End file.
